


No Absolution

by sharim28



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 12:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17284040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharim28/pseuds/sharim28
Summary: If Carter dies, a part of him will die, and he’s not sure it’s a part he can live without.  Post Upgrades Tag.





	No Absolution

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own. It's the requisite post-upgrades tag, because I think every self-confessed shipper needs to tackle Upgrades or D&C at some point, and this is my Upgrades contribution.

When the armbands fail they go into withdrawal. Janet confines them to the SGC until the last effects of the experiment wear off. Jack stalks around the base, fire and anger and adrenaline burning under his skin. He can’t think or escape, so he goes to the gym and he starts running as though the nightmares are still chasing him.

It’s well past midnight when she finds him on the treadmill; he can tell it’s her even though he can’t see her. Maybe it’s the remnants of the device still augmenting his senses, or maybe it’s because he _knows her_.

He keeps running. He knows that if he stops and looks at her he could easily destroy their careers with a selfish desire.

So he keeps running.

Running away from the vision of her behind that force shield. Of the knowledge in her eyes as she looked at him.

Running away from the inevitable loss of her, because if he can get away from her first, maybe it won’t hurt so much if he loses her.

His lungs are burning, muscles cramping and aching, screaming for oxygen, but still he runs; the regular thumping of his feet on the treadmill a direct contrast to the racing cacophony of his heart beating in a thousand broken pieces in his chest.

He runs until his feet start to stagger and he knows he should stop, but he doesn’t, because he can’t look at her right now. He misses the sense of invincibility of the arm bands, the glorious ability to just keep going harder and faster and further without breaking a sweat. The blessed unawareness of how far they have fallen.

The first warning that she’s moved is a hint of her scent before her hand slams down onto the controls of the treadmill, and the machine slows under his feet. He staggers to a stop, grasping at the rails, furious and relieved and desperate to get away from her all at once.

“What the hell are you doing, Major?” He sounds winded, even to himself.

She stands in front of him, her eyes full of ice and fury. “You should have left,” she says, harshly. “You should have left me.”

“You should have left, _sir,_ ” he corrects, hunching over to try and catch his breath.

“Damn it, Colonel,” she explodes, stepping forward and pushing him back off the treadmill. “You. Should. Have. Left!” Each word, sharp and angry and desperate, is punctuated by the force of her hand against his chest, and he stumbles back until the wall is against his back.

He still hasn’t regained his equilibrium. She’s closer than she should be, eyes bright with anger and her chest heaving as though she is the one who just tried to kill herself by running forever on the treadmill. She’s magnificent, he thinks, drinking in the fury in her eyes and softness of her lips, and so very very angry with him.

Apparently, Carter gets pissed when she’s withdrawing.

“No,” he says quietly, and the anger that is burning under his skin changes into something hot and fluid. He puts his hands on her hips. “Never,” he says, drawing her closer to him. She’s here, real and hot and glorious. There is nothing standing between them, and Jack doesn’t think things have ever felt more _right_.

“I… Jack.” There is desperation now, her anger dissipating away under his easy denial.

He gets this, the anger and the fear. The complete inability to assimilate how they are going to move forward as a team when she knows his secret; that he can’t leave her behind, ever. And she’s right to be angry at him, because he _should_ have left.

The only absolution, maybe, is that if it was Teal’c or Daniel behind that shield, Jack’s not certain that he would have left them behind either. The difference is, if Carter dies, a part of him will die, and he’s not sure it’s a part he can live without.

It’s why he lets his hands creep around her hips and tugs her closer, pulling her warmth against him. It’s why when her hands fist in the damp fabric of his shirt as she presses herself against him, he doesn’t push her away. And it’s why when she crushes her mouth against his, hard and hot and desperate, he kisses her back instead of stopping her.

Against his sweaty lips she tastes of salt and coffee and something infinitely Carter. She moans against him, and he shifts, opening his mouth. All that matters is the feel of her against his tongue and the way she kisses him back, desperately, hungrily.

Her fingernails scrape against the sensitive skin of his scalp as she combs her fingers through his hair. Heat races through him, thundering along his veins so that he moves and pushes her over, pressing her up against the wall now at her back. His leg works its way between hers, the hot heat of her against his thigh building the fire between them.

He groans when she shifts, wrapping her leg around his hips, and suddenly he is _right there_ , pushing against heat. The friction of the layers between them does nothing but wind the tension tighter. She moans into his mouth, pressing harder into him, gasping as he kisses a damp trail down her neck. Beneath his fingers, the skin of her waist is hot and smooth, and the hollows of her neck hide secrets he never thought he’d taste.

Distantly, something slams - a locker door? - and he freezes against her, fingertips brushing the firm swell of a breast. His shirt is missing, and her head is thrown back against the wall, cheeks flushed, eyes closed, lips swollen. Her legs are still wrapped around him, holding him close.

What are they doing?

His stillness alerts her, and he sees the realisation slide into place as she blinks dark, unfocused blue eyes at him.

It’s everything he wants offered to him, and everything he can’t have.

She licks her lips, swallowing, and he watches the pulse in her neck flickering rapidly in the harsh light of the gym. She closes her eyes again, not moving, and sighs.

He leans in and kisses the sigh from her lips. She whispers “Jack,” against his lips, and he breathes that in with another kiss, soft and gentle and full of regret, so light his lips ache from the whisper of hers against his.

“This… this isn’t us,” he murmurs against her lips, closing his eyes, resting his forehead against hers.

“No,” she sighs, the puff of air against his skin is achingly warm; she’s so close and so out of reach it burns.

“It’s the arm bands,” he continues, keeping his eyes closed so he can’t see whether or not this agony is reflected in her gaze. “The withdrawal.”

She lowers her leg, the pressure between them lessening, but the ache in him building.

“We’ll be back to normal tomorrow,” she whispers, her lips brushing his cheek.

He keeps his eyes closed as her hands trace gently down his neck, his chest, his hips, and then his skin is cold and bereft of her touch. When she slips from his grasp, he keeps his eyes closed, listening as she crosses the empty room and her footsteps fade down the hall.

He leans forward, his forehead hot against the cold concrete walls, keeping his eyes closed for a few more minutes before the memory of her touch against him fades completely.

The anger and fire has cooled now to a dull ache that smolders in his chest, and the scent of her lingering in the air around him keeps it burning.

They can do this, Jack thinks, finally opening his eyes and pushing off the wall.

They can keep doing this. Keep being SG-1 and Colonel and Major, and no one ever needs to know that he nearly lost himself back on that planet.


End file.
